Dragons Blood
by Diaed
Summary: Nightmares plagued her with a past she couldn't remember, fears of losing her future lurking around every corner. She knew she would have to find something to hang onto in order to stop her new life from falling apart around her. But first things first, she needed to find her brothers before that THING found them, what the whispers told her as being 'Alduin the world eater'.
1. The Thief

Heavy limbs dragged themselves through the pristine snow, a crimson trail left in the young woman's wake as she trudged through the unending white. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, cleaning away the thick layer of blood and dirt that had gathered upon her aching flesh. She wished her body were numb, but instead she felt the burning pain of every wound, the shudder of every arrow that protruded from her with every step, the slicing of splintered bones against her insides. The pain was unbearable, tearing away at her very being, her mind was no longer able to hold any thought other than "Keep going", and all she could do was force herself onwards. She stumbled, falling forward into the the snow, finding herself unable to get back to her feet. She whimpered, her thoughts slowly returning to her.

She thought of how she had failed them, how she would never be able to wish them good-bye, how she would never watch the youngest grow into a man, nor the man grow into an elder. She would never watch them marry, never watch them have children of their own, never be able to see their children grin at her the way they once had, never be able to see home. How she wished for home. How she wished for her wards.  
She mustered strength, parting cracked lips and squeezing shut burning eyes. Her voice came out a roar, raw and mournful as though a mother beast were calling for her children, and echoed across the hill tops. Her eyes opened again, barely managing a few, weak sobs as she looked to the sky. The soft silhouette of a man appeared against the light, looking down at her from atop a horse. He dismounted, scooping the broken elf up from the ground.

"Hang in there little elf" An unfamiliar voice soothed, placing her up in the saddle and wrapping strong arms around her.

* * *

She took in a sharp breath, shooting up right in a panic, grabbing at her chest where a heart beat fiercely; Nightmares she had just seen, no longer visible to her waking mind. Scrubbing trembling hands over her face, her fingers froze upon a scar below her eye. Her fingers followed two, separate trails, moving to the mark that cut through her lip. She did not know what put them there, nor the story behind why she had let herself be so carelessly marked, but the gaping feeling within her only grew bigger at this thought. She lifted her hands to her hair, running thin fingers through charcoal strands. She let out a sigh, looking up to the sky that hung above. She had fallen asleep in the rain again. Slowly, she got to her feet and ran her hands over her wet and dirt caked armor, curiosity on where it came from emphasising the pain of not knowing. She went to open her mouth to speak when another thought came to her, "How many years has it been since I last spoke?". She lifted her armor, tugging off the brace and glove. Looking down at the snow coloured flesh, she stared at the small, raised and purple lines scarring her skin. She mentally counted each tally, the marks going in fives. She dared to speak now, looking at the scabbing over and most recent tally "Too many" She said to herself, covering the marks back up and glancing towards the sea that awaited not far off. She watched a ship dock, another leave, and nodded to herself.

* * *

A thump brought the elf's eyes open, blue eyes flicking around the room in a panic. Her heart slowed slightly, the familiar smell of old ale flooding her senses, the realisation she was in an Inn settling on her mind. She dared not to move, well aware that the injuries she had suffered were not a dream by the the dull aches that covered her body. Her eyes fluttered closed, doing her best conjure what little magika she had left to heal herself. Feeling a depression in the bed her eyes snapped open, an unfamiliar man sitting beside her. He was dressed in brown and orange robes, face hidden by the shadow of a hood, a false smile plastered across his face.

"I'm here to heal your wounds" The man said smoothly.

Her eyes shifted to the man's waist, wandering to the hip facing away from her "That's a rather pretty blade for a healer" She said evenly, looking back at the man's face to see his expression drop to a snarl. In a flash of movement the man had drawn his blade, only to be thrown to the ground. Vicious, sharp nails cut into his skin, the thick crimson coating her fingertips as she held his wrists above his head with a single hand. The blade of his dagger was pressed to his throat, a faint slither of blood emerging from beneath the jagged, green metal.

"Who do you work for?" She asked calmly, doing her best to ignore the pain screaming through her body. The man didn't respond, staring at her guarded eyes, he would be useless to her. She slid the blade across his throat, spilling crimson onto the floor. She got to her feet, glancing down at her body to find something to clean the blade only to wipe the crimson away on her already bloody bandages. She glanced back to a dresser that sat beside the head of the bed, walking back and grabbing a white linen shirt from the top and pants. After pulling on the clothes, she relived the man of his belt and shoes and burdened herself with them, sheathing the man's dagger with strained movements "I'm getting too old for this" She groaned to herself, rolling her shoulders back with a cringe before throwing back doors to her room. She slipped down stairs, daring to smirk at the red head leaning against the wall by the staircase.

Long, pale fingers slipped to the underside of the coin pouch that hung from a well kept, brown leather belt. The pouch fell into her hand, a skilled movement attaching it to her own, the elf starting to slip away with her relieved possessions. An arm coiled around her waste, the strength of the previous target taking her by surprise as she was pulled back to him.

"Why don't you buy us both a drink with that, Lass?" He said, voice low and smooth, twisting into her mind like liquid fire.

Her body fought with her mind, trying to control natural reactions while fighting pain's cage. Barely keeping her body from going ridged, she chuckled lowly. Her voice came out smooth and thick, as though it were honey "I wouldn't know what to order" She purred, deliberately relaxing into his form. He was far stronger than she first perceived, the elegant robes he wore hiding much more than he most likely knew. Or perhaps he did "I am new to Skyrim"

"Then let me order" He offered, leading her through the crowd, never allowing her to depart from his hip "You're pretty good, Lass, just not good enough to steal from me" She purposefully chose to say that it was her injuries that had caused her failure, and not that this man was that good, for the sake of her own pride.

A surprisingly soft hand slid down his arms, long fingers entwining with his, setting their joined hands atop the counter. She turned to his ear, dropping her voice "Thieves can rarely steal from thieves"

He chuckled in response, the same urge to become ridged returning to her, resisting the temptation to embarrass her on the way her ears twitched at his voice "You did a good job at figuring that out, lass"

"You've got the fingers for it" She smiled glassily at the slightly shorter man, his height less than hers by only a forehead. The man tapped on the counter with his free hand, drawing the barmaids attention "It's difficult to not recognize fingers like your own" She added.

Holding up two fingers, he glanced at her "My purse please" He requested. With a swift movement, the pouch was reattached to his belt with bare notice "I could offer you a bit of work if you're interested in it, lass" He nodded at the Argonian as she placed two bottles of mead before them.

Cautiously, she lifted the bottle to her lips. The lip of the bottle rested against her own, the slightest hint of reluctance on her face, before taking a swig. She bit back a cough, and masked a cringe, at the bitter taste that filled her mouth "I'm kind of busy" She managed, by a miracle, to say without any hint of disgust at the bitter brew.

"With stealing?" He smirked, holding the neck of the bottle with fingers that gave away much more of his skill than they had before.

"Such a lack of faith in my innocence" She smiled, leaning back against the counter, relieved once his arm was removed from her waist.

"Can you blame me, lass?" He chuckled, taking a drink, while looking over the other. Though her slender body was relaxed, he could see the faint stiffness to her, yet her hidden discomfort caught the least of his attention. Her torso was not in proportion to her limbs, the long and elegant appendages far exceeding the natural length and most likely being the main cause of her almost absurde height.

She laughed slightly, running a hand through her charcoal hair, eyes wandering from the man to the crowd "Can you blame me for trying to steal from you?" She gave back, tilting her head and looking at him "A rich, attractive nord with his guard down, how could any self-respecting thief refuse? I have seen temptation, danced with it, but what you are is far more than mere temptation"

"Are you flirting with me, Lass?" He smirked, moving a step close so their hips were a breath apart.

She closed the gap, moving her face closer to his so their noses brushed "I would be lying if I said I wasn't" She smirked. She pulled away, pressing her thumb to the counter. With that she deserted his side, vanishing through the doors to the Bee and Barb. He cast his gaze down to where her thumb was, seeing a symbol burnt into the wood. The brown mark stared back at him, a box within a circle. He forced his way through the crowd, bursting out into the street. He scanned every shadow, hopping she had not gone far, but saw no sign of the pale elf. He leant back against the Inn, folding his arms and laughing at himself, she was a thief after all.


	2. The Rouge

The pain of his heavy limbs was left unacknowledged, the throbbing headache he had awoken with taken the full of his attention as he sat upright with a grunt. Running calloused hands through long, greying,brown hair he slowly got to his tired feet. The tales he had been told of adventurers in his youth had never said anything about this, about the ghost feeling of old wounds, his hand and feet becoming worn and almost sore to move. Those tales had lied to him. He shrugged on the dirty linen before fastening leather armor around his defined body. He pulled on boots who had seen their share of battle, signs of repair obvious against the worn and dulled material caked with dirt and blood.

Jerric ran a hand over his scruff of a beard as he stumbled from his tavern bed, doing his best to ignore the blooming worry in the pit of his stomach. Not for her – gods no – he knew better than to worry about his dear carer, half a life time with her had shown him to never underestimate the unaging altmer, he worried for his young brother. Trudging down the steps he only felt the worry escalate. Helious was strong, there was no doubt about that, but his brother was still barely a man let alone a warrior.

"Hey there, pretty elf" A drunken slur caught the aging mans attention, bringing exhausted eyes to an imperials blunt pestering "How about you and me go somewhere quiet?" He smirked causing the man's blood to rise "C'mon little lady, lets make some magic, ain't that what you elves are all about?" He assumed, moving to set a hand on the Bosmers shoulder.

He was there in an instant, catching the drunkard by the wrist. Jerric was not a rash man – or at least not since Helious had arrived into his life – yet he did not tolerate any form of disrespect. No matter their race "Perhaps you should reconsider" He growled.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" The drunkard spat, a drop of saliva landing just below the others eye.

He cleaned it away with his thumb "Imperials make the worst drunks" He said coldly. A flash of movement caught the other man off guard, Jerrics hand wrapping around the drunkards throat. He slammed the man into a nearby wall, holding him above the floor "Listen, mate, I suggest you treat women with a little more respect, or you just might find yourself in a serious accident. Savvy?" He growled. He dropped the man, approaching the woman "You alright?" She nodded gently in response to his question, going to murmur a thank you only to have him cut in "Don't" He ordered "The man clearly was not raised right" He nodded, abandoning the Inn with the faintest smile.

* * *

A far too harsh pat to the back caused him to stumble and fall. The line turned, looking back at him with somber expressions. They all ranged from men to boys, each worn and dirt covered, hands calloused from years of service. He knew each of these faces, men and boys he had worked under since he was forced into the ships labour. He wanted to laugh, even if he knew it would come out dark, only at the pure familiarity of the scene. His parents had done this too him but three years ago, on his ninth day of birth, and the memory still stung his no longer innocent mind. He was tainted by the world, a broken and disciplined child due to forever serve this new level of Oblivion.

"Up straight" The captain snapped, the boy falling into line between two brutish men that had been here for far longer than he "This might be your lucky day" The old man practically grinned, giving the smallest of the horde a nod "Especially you, Jerric, heard a rumor this one likes lads"

The boy did his best not to look, but heard, as the boat creaked beneath heavy boots. He heard whoever this was wander up the line, footsteps growing louder as they drew closer to him. The perfectly polished, black boots stopped before him, a mental pray starting that they continue to walk. He dared to look up, eyes trailing brown pants worn at the knees, white linen accompanied by a brown corset and then to ferocious blue eyes. His heart jumped into his throat, the soft glow of the afternoon light catching on the hidden gold tint to her snow coloured flesh. The charcoal haired woman turned to the captain, tapping the toe of her boot against the old wood of the ship as she did so.

"This one" She spoke, voice burning like fire yet thick and sweet like honey "What is his name?" She asked.

"That's Jerric, Ma'am, little farm boy from westward" The Captain said, approaching the extraordinarily tall elf women "You like him?"

She knelt down so she was able to look up at him. Her eyes seemed to be reading him as though he were a book, the faintest smile on crimson lips leaving him breathless "Good afternoon, Jerric" She said softly, taking his hands and holding them gingerly "Tell me, little one, do you like it here?" She asked gently. He was quiet for a long moment, unable to look away from her eyes, before shaking his head slowly. Her smile widened, standing up and abandoning only one of his hands "Yes, this is the one I want" She nodded, sure of her decision.

"Thank you, Ma'am, I am glad you like him" The Captain nodded.

She wrapped long, tendrilic arms around the boy and lifted him from the ground with ease and held him in her arms "I love him" She said softly, resting her chin on the boys shoulder.

* * *

The silver blade was removed swiftly, wide, blue eyes staring at the older man. Jerric grabbed the bandit by his leather belt, the unfortunate nord coughing and spluttering as he slowly bled out, cleaning the imperial blade on the mans furs. He dropped the deceased, the body slamming against the floor with a 'thump' that echoed out through the fort. He grunted as he began to relive the body of what little it had, comparing the bandits of Skyrim to those back in Cyrodiil. These ones had been careless and next to unprotected, the likes he was familiar with more often than not being equipped with armor. He sheathed his blades, starting on his way out of the fort with another flutter of worry. He needed to hurry this along, return to Solitude, though he told the guards to hold down an blond nord and khajiit trying to leave Skyrim he doubted anyone could hold Helious for long. He could only pray to the nine - no - the Imperials had forsaken Talos, he could only pray to the eight that his little brother still breathed. Gods know the rash child could not hold his own against even a giant - let alone a dragon.


	3. The Warrior

The air whirled past him, the toss of the monstrosities arm having of flung him up into the air, mind racing to recall what he was taught. In an instant he had his axe positioned perfectly, the sharpened edge slamming into the back of the Giants neck with the nords head landing beside it. He panted faintly, grunting as he pulled the weapon from the thickened skinned beast. It staggered forward, groaning and moaning as it lost the connection to its body, falling towards the ground. As its head crashed into the dirt, he stepped off and took a few steps for word.

"Talos" He panted slightly, glancing back before looking down at his blade. He cringed, making a quite disgusted noise as he cleaned the weapon on the bristled hide of his studded armor.

"You're a good huntsman, boy" A thick, nordic spoke up, catching the blonde by surprise.

He smiled, turning to face the woman as he gave her once over "Helious" he greeted, no hint of his heritage in his voice "My name is Helious, and I'm no boy"

She gave him an amused smile "If you say so. Tell me, Helious, you ever consider joining the companions?" The boys quirked brow gave him away, not needing to voice his question "If you want to kill more giants and get paid for it, come up to Jorrvaskr, speak to Kodlak Whitemane about joining the companions"

"Do I get to spend more time with you?" He smirked, never being so glad that his elder brother was so lucentios.

"Perhaps" She nodded, leaving in the direction of the front gate. He chuckled, starting back to the dragonskeep.

* * *

The flames raged on, crimson fire licking at the building causing the wood to splinter and char. There was no escape, legs curled into his chest as tears spilled from his eyes in unceasing rivers that boiled in the scorching heat. He heard shouting, yet it was not that of his parents, the bandits had already seen to them, then heard a crash.

"Anyone alive in there!?" Someone called out, barely a silhouette behind rows of fire "Mother! There's a kid in there!" The hulking figure called out to something unseen. A second appeared by the man's side, lanky and tall as though it were a tree.

The tree moved forward, flames curling around it as it pushed forward. The figure took form, long ears and limbs that were not in proportion to the small torso. The charcoal haired elf knelt down, scooping him up in oddly long arms and holding him to her chest "It's alright little one" Her voice was hoarse yet crackled like the fire around them, burning inside his mind, the lingering whisper calming him. She wrapped him in her cloak, holding him tighter before she spun around and sprinted out of the crumbling building. She skidded to a halt on the snow, cradling the young child in her arms.

"Well?" The man from before asked.

The child peaked out from beneath the black cloak, looking into brown eyes that captured the moonlight "He will be fine" She said softly.

"What will we do with him? We very well can't take him with us, there's no way we can raise some kid" The man stated, running a black leather clad hand back through his brown hair "There anywhere we can leave him?"

She looked into the childs blue eyes with her own, the glowing blue orbs that looked down at calming him far more than her voice had accomplished "Who says that I can not raise a child?" She asked, burying her face into the young boys hair "We were returning to Cyrodiil to settle, were we not?" He opened his mouth to argue "Come little one" She whispered to the boy, starting her trudge through the snow "Come on, other little one!" She called over her shoulder.

* * *

He rose slowly, feeling the fatigue from yesterdays journey hit him at full force. He had barely slept, nightmares of the raging fires of Helgan giving him little had never feared fire, finding the mere presence of his dear carer and elder brother keeping all sorts of pain and fear at bay. He felt so alone, now, without guidance or care, trying to recall what he had been taught. He struggled from his bed, groaning as he pulled on his worn leathers. Why he had agreed to leave his armor behind in Cyrodiil he was still unsure of.

He got up, scowling at the badly smithed axes. The Imperial Legion soldiers had ever so kindly relieved him of his original weapons, tossing them aside as though they were mere Skyrim smithed junk. Dam these barbarians and their lack of appreciation for good steel, it had taken his mother a year to get those axes.

He sheathed them at the sides, none the less, trudging from the Inn and out into Whiterun streets. He at least knew where to start his search for his dear family - or the eldest of their family - he was going to go where all the fighting was.


End file.
